


Every New Beginning

by lostsoul512



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 23:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10841712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostsoul512/pseuds/lostsoul512
Summary: Comes from some other beginning's end.Or, Anduin Wrynn mourns the loss of his father and struggles under the weight of the crown.





	Every New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darlings~ I'm finally getting around to transferring all my stuff from ff.net, so hello again to all those familiars and hello for the first time to anyone new xx Leave me some love and I promise to share it with Anduin because he so clearly needs it right now.

A/N: WOW OKAY. Hi there. I have emerged from the rollercoaster that has been Legion and figured I should probably do something that doesnt involve sobbing and grinding reputation (at the urging of Blame the Priest, who took it upon herself to point out that I have been slacking in every aspect of life except the aforementioned rep grinding.) 

Anyway. I figured the best way to make my return was with pain and suffering because that’s all Blizz has given to us. 

I’m glad to be back~ 

xx Skye

...

The last time so many notable people had been gathered together in one place, Anduin thought idly, it had been for the trial of Garrosh Hellscream. It seemed that misery and death were about the only things left to hold Azeroth together- concepts with which Anduin found himself far too familiar.

When the guards had announced him, it had been as the High King of the Alliance, and the wave of pain that had moved through the room had been tangible. Saying the words aloud made them real, made them undeniable. 

Varian Wrynn was dead. Varian Wrynn was gone. And all the weight had fallen onto Anduin’s shoulders. 

He had never felt so small. 

He had been silent since, watching the familiar faces winding in and out of the room from where he sat upon a throne that felt too big, under a crown that felt too heavy. More than once, they had shuffled forward to offer their condolences, but he’d never quite managed to find the words to say in reply. He’d tried and failed to string together even a single coherent sentence, but nothing sounded right and so he opted to say nothing. 

At his side stood Jaina Proudmoore, who had been uncharacteristically quiet as well, clutching to her staff like if she loosened her hold for even a moment she might implode from the sheer rage that had built up within her. When Anduin glanced her way, she was quick to give him a short nod - it might have been encouraging if not for the cold and calculating look in her turquoise eyes. 

“They’ll be expecting you to speak,” she said; Anduin would have been impressed with her ability to sound so completely put together if he hadnt been able to see straight through it. Jaina had been the one to deliver the news, teleporting ahead while Genn had focused on getting out as many of their troops as he could. She’d arrived with the fading glimmer of a portal around her and tears welled up in her eyes, and she had barely managed to keep herself from collapsing forward as she blurted out the words that he’d been dreading, as every nightmare that had plagued him came true right before his eyes. 

This was the first that he had seen her since, and from what he could tell she seemed to have done a better job picking up the pieces of her broken heart than he had managed. But then again, he supposed that forcing herself to feel nothing wasnt quite the same thing as coping, and he could see in her stare that she had done just that- hollowed herself out, purged herself of anything except her hatred, and now she would hold onto that, let its burning illuminate her path. 

Anduin could not allow himself to share in that fate. He would rather be overcome with his pain and his sadness than make himself a void to be filled with loathing and blame. 

“I know,” he answered her at last, his voice hoarse. He’d spent the last two days trying to prepare something to say. But as Anduin turned to face the others gathered there, his own soft blue eyes scanning over the crowd, all the words slipped from his mind. These were his friends. Allies. Mentors. People that had risked their lives for the good of the Alliance. People that had come from every corner of the world to pay their respects to the man that had led them time and time again in and out of peril. 

They deserved more than half thought out words he’d scribbled on parchment. They deserved the truth, as honestly as he could give it. 

The last time he’d had to be so brave, it had nearly cost him his life. But Garrosh Hellscream was dead now, and so far as he knew no one in this room wished him any harm. 

Still, he found the strength to rise, doing all in his power not to waver on his feet. It took little more than that for the room to fall silent, for each gaze to stray towards him- some eager, some uncertain, but all awaiting the words of their king. 

He was their king. He was a Wrynn. And he would need to summon whatever courage he could now, because this fight was far from over. 

Anduin’s gaze did a quick sweep of the room, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “My father,” he started, but cut himself off abruptly as he heard the way his own voice trembled. He sucked in a greedy breath, squeezed his eyes shut, let it out in an audible hiss. Opening his eyes, he began again. “My father was a good man. He was...he was the most stubborn man I've ever known, but his heart was always in the right place. I am not so disillusioned to believe that he was always the best king, but I do believe with all my heart that he always tried to be. He always tried to do what was best- for me, for the Alliance, and for Azeroth.” 

Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder at Jaina. Her body was rigidly still, leaning heavily on her staff, but her expression had softened, her eyes glistening as she stared blankly ahead. 

Swallowing hard, Anduin shifted his weight awkwardly. “When I was a child, I never understood what this-” he paused to wave a hand before him, as if to gesture at the very idea of the Alliance itself- “Meant. And maybe I don't understand it now. Maybe I dont have the slightest idea how to be a king, how to be the king that you all need. What I do know is this- Azeroth is once more on the brink of destruction. My father gave his life to save the lives of many, and I will not let his sacrifice be in vain. Now, perhaps more than ever before, we must stand united. We must remain strong. We must not lose faith. If I learned anything from my father, it was bravery. I can only hope now to offer that back to each of you, and to all of the Alliance, as we band together once more to fight for our home.”

He had to pause again to take another deep breath, to try and stop his hands from shaking at his sides. “The Burning Legion will not be permitted to rise victorious. They may take our homelands and they may take our loved ones, but they will never take our will to fight back. So long as we have that, we still have a chance to win. And I- we all- owe it to my father to keep on fighting. We owe it to my father, and we owe it to ourselves.” 

A fire burning in his eyes, Anduin lifted his chin. “For Azeroth,” he called out, “And for the Alliance.” 

The throne room erupted into applause and cheers and echoing cries. Anduin barely heard them over the sound of his own pounding heart. He staggered back and all but literally collapsed against the seat of the throne- his throne. It felt impossible to fill. 

It felt impossible to breathe. 

Reaching out, Jaina rested her fingers lightly against his forearm. “He would be so proud of you,” she said softly, words meant only for him to hear. 

Anduin angled himself to give her an appreciative- if not terse- smile. “For now,” he replied. “I’m sure within a month I’ll have him plotting how to come back, just so he can strangle me and take me with him.” 

The blonde woman laughed at that, but it sounded numb, and it faded out far too quickly. In a matter of seconds her expression had shifted, hardening once more, and when she looked back at him he couldn't help feeling like he was being reprimanded already for a decision he had not yet made. “But we have more matters to discuss,” she stated, any trace of support gone. “The Horde has-” 

“Lady Proudmoore,” a voice interrupted; both of the humans glanced up just in time to see Velen coming to stand before them. “We ought to give the boy a moment’s rest before we add to his troubles.” 

Jaina made no effort to hide her irritation at the interruption. “We cannot afford the luxury of a moment’s rest. The Legion is at our doorstep-” 

“And Anduin has just lost his father,” Velen reminded her calmly, though even the softness of his tone was not enough to keep the boy from flinching. 

With a strained expression, he lifted his gaze to meet Jaina’s own, wondering to himself how someone could appear so frigid and yet so fueled by the fire of hatred all at the same time, wondering how someone who had once been the biggest advocate for peace in all of Azeroth could have allowed the wrongs of a few to turn her against thousands. “There will be time to discuss this later,” he assured her. “Perhaps if we speak to the Warchief, try to understand what happened, we could seek reconciliation-” 

“The Horde betrayed your father and left us to die,” she stated firmly, clutching to her staff so tightly that her knuckles had gone white around it. “To fight alongside those cowards would dishonor everything he stood for.” 

From Anduin’s other side, the prophet Velen gave the young king an even stare. When he spoke, his voice was always level, always free of emotion. Like he only ever spoke the truth, the facts, without any personal bias. Like he had already seen how this would all end and didn't have enough energy to get attached to any of it. “My people know the price of facing the demons as a world divided. It is time to unite our forces and defend our lands.” 

Succumbing to the pressure being placed upon him, Anduin allowed his gaze to fall to his lap. He knew that Velen was right- even as his heart mourned the loss of his father, even as his world shattered around him, he knew that Velen was right. Azeroth needed unity and peace now more than ever. 

“I’m sorry, Aunt Jaina,” he murmured. “Vengeance must wait.” Swallowing hard, he finally tilted his head up to look at Jaina. Her expression was no less hardened, and he had to fight off the urge to wince from the way that it ached. So, he thought, this is being king. Making choices and watching the people you love stare you down like they want to set you on fire. 

Aloud, he said, “I trust you’re mobilizing the Kirin Tor.” 

Jaina laughed- a cold, hollow laugh that someone managed to sound sincere, like she was genuinely amused by his question. “Dalaran will help protect the Eastern Kingdoms,” she said stiffly, “but I will not allow the Horde to set foot into my city.” 

Anduin’s head was pounding already, thudding in perfect time with every syllable that she spat at him. “Jaina,” he tried again, except it didn't sound like he had put in as much effort this time, like he was pleading more for show than anything. He was tired. He was too tired to fight. His father’s casket was taking up half the throne room and he didn't want to talk about war anymore. He felt like a child impersonating a king. Like a ten year old sitting on a throne, playing pretend, while Katrana Prestor barked orders and ran everything straight into ruin. Except Katrana Prestor had been a dragon and Jaina was supposed to be his family. 

Somehow, it still didn't feel any different. 

By now, they’d managed to draw the attention of most everyone else- Anduin hadn't even realized how escalated their voices had gotten. Jaina didn't seem to care in the slightest. Shaking her head, she stepped away from the throne, began to shift her staff around her in the telling pattern of a portal. The soft hum of arcane energy filled the air around her, casting an ethereal glow over her form. “You disappoint me, Anduin Wrynn,” she whispered lowly. She may as well have shouted them for the way they echoed in his mind. And then she was gone, disappearing into nothingness, leaving only a fading shimmer of magic where she had been. 

…

Anduin did not speak again. 

He didnt not speak, and he did not move until everyone else had gone. 

He waited until the room was empty, until he was the only person left. He rose from the throne and made his way across the room in slow, measured steps, cringing every so often as his leg trembled and threatened to give out under the weight of his own body. When at last there was no distance remaining between himself and the casket, he lifted a shaking hand to trail down the marbled likeness of Shalamayne, tracing the smooth stone that made up the blade. 

It had been lost now, another thing that the Legion had stolen away. It made his chest hurt to think about- when he was little, he’d always thought that one day his father might give the blade to him. 

Then again, his father had always seemed indestructible, and Anduin was no good with a sword. 

He withdrew his hand only when he started to feel foolish, folding them together on the edge of the coffin instead. He swallowed, took a deep breath, let out a shaky laugh that sounded way too close to crying. “You told me you were going to be safe,” he muttered, shaking his head.

There were plenty of things he wanted to say, plenty of words he longed for his father to hear. He wanted to tell him he hated him for leaving him. He wanted to tell him that he loved him. He wanted to cry until he couldnt breathe and scream and beg and demand that he come home. But none of these things were going to bring Varian back. None of these things were going to change anything. 

In the end, he said nothing at all, just leaned in to press a careful kiss to the hilt of the carved sword and turned to leave. He stopped only once, looking back over his shoulder one last time. His father had always told him not to look back, but he thought he might forgive him just this one time. 

In spite of it all, Anduin felt the faintest of smiles tug at the corners of his lips. It was weak, but it was the closest to real he had managed to come in days. It was a start, at the very least. “I’ll make you proud, Father,” he whispered. And then he turned to face forward once more, and he started off, utterly unsure of what the future might hold for him, but certain that whatever it held, whatever may come, he would be ready. 

Whether he had truly ever known it or not, Varian Wrynn had made sure of that. 

end


End file.
